


Like Paper Planes and Playground Games

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Domestic oneshot in which Harry is a stay at home dad and Louis is a football player.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Paper Planes and Playground Games

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own anything, untrue, ya know.

Harry’s exhausted when he collapses into the seat in what he hopes is the right auditorium for his History of Science and Technology lecture. His shoes are pinching his feet, it’s raining in London, and he’s not exactly sure where on campus he is or how he got there.

He tosses the jacket over the seat next to him, hoping nobody will occupy the spot but that’s looking unlikely with the amount of people that are already in the lecture hall. He shuffles through his bag to find a notebook and a pen, to no avail with the latter.

Two people walk in and take the seats in front of him, effectively blocking his view of the screen and his professor up front. Just perfect. Syllabi are being passed up and down the rows two minutes before class is ready to start and thankfully nobody has occupied the seat next to him yet and who knows maybe Louis will actually show up at some point.

Just in time a hand lands on his shoulder, and sure enough it’s Louis with a little sweat mixed with rain on his forehead, smelling like fresh deodorant and Harry’s cologne, “That spot taken?”

Harry shrinks in his seat, tucking his legs up to let Louis slide through to the seat, “I got you a syllabus.”

“Thanks love,” His hand is in Harry’s hair like always, scrunching the slightly damp curls and tugging at his scalp so Harry sinks further in his chair and feels a little bit relaxed if only for a moment.

The professor starts to talk and Louis untangles his hand from the curls, “Do you have a pen?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow back at him, “Do you think I have a pen?”

Harry sighs but Louis’ got an hand on his arm, squeezing up and down between his wrist and his elbow.

“Nobody takes notes on the first day anyway Haz,” Louis’ breath is warm on his ear as he whispers with a rough voice. He pulls open a water bottle, offering it to Harry who takes a nice swig out of it.

Not being prepared and losing his pen gives him anxiety, and he can’t underline the important details on the syllabus or make the corrections the blond professor is giving them from the front of the room, having one class with Louis only makes him feel slightly better.

Class is over early and it’s both of their last classes of the day. Louis’ got a bit of time before he has to be ready for practice so they trace their way through campus, past the dodgy tea shop and up two flights of stairs.

Harry collapses on the couch, knees bent over the armrest and feet dangling off. Louis drops his bag and his football, letting it bounce across the floor and stops himself in front of Harry’s feet.

“Tired?” Louis picks up Harry’s foot, lifting it to slide the inside zipper down and sliding off the brown shoe along with the black sock underneath before reaching to repeat with the other one. Harry offers a nod and a pathetic half smile, “So I guess this would be an inappropriate time to mention that I particularly like this angle?”

Harry groans as Louis lifts up his legs by the heels of his feet, propping them up in a V shape, “Incredibly.”

Louis shrugs and lets Harry’s feet drop heavily, “Your loss.”

Harry groans, kicking his feet out towards Louis’ bum, and missing, as he walks away.

“You know, you’re not going to be welcome here if you’re going to be a sour puss,” Louis remarks from the kitchen, where he’s picked up his football again and is dribbling incessantly against the bottom of the bench.

“But then you wouldn’t get anything done,” Harry retaliates in reference to his nearly non-existent study habits and failing marks as the pounding stops, “And no sex.”

It’s quiet when Louis collapses on Harry’s stomach, shifts his body so that he’s planting his knees deep in the couch on either side of Harry’s torso. His hands clutch at Harry’s waist tightly.

Harry shrugs daringly, letting his hands rest lightly on Louis’ thighs, a door slams closed in the distance and Louis groans. A roommate walks in so Louis falls backwards on the couch, letting his head rest on the armrest.

“Sorry mate,” The dark haired male with darker eyes apologizes as he traipses in.

“I think that’s my cue,” Louis groans, rolling over to find his cleats and pick up his football, shoving it back into his duffle bag with his spare ball. Harry shoves himself up as well.

“What’d you do with my shoes?”

Zayn quirks an eyebrow over the apple he’s munching on, “You don’t have to leave mate.”

Louis flicks his fringe out of his face with a quirky smile as he bends over to tie the laces on his shoes, “Yeah Haz, stay, make me dinner, make up for what didn’t get done earlier.”

“M’kay,” He doesn’t care that there’s probably not anything for him to make other than maybe pot noodles but he can’t be bothered to get up from the couch anyway.

Louis’ hand drops on his cheek, tilts his head to press a kiss to his lips, “Be a doll and have my protein shake ready a little after six?”

“Sure,” Harry grabs his hand, rubs his thumb over the dry skin of his knuckles a little before letting go, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Louis backs his way towards the door and with a quick survey of the area, Zayn has apparently made himself scarce. Before every last ounce of energy drains from his body he pushes himself from the couch, makes a beeline towards Louis’ room and collapses on the bed, shucking his jeans and tucking the sheets up under his chin.

-

It is raining and dipping below usual London temperatures for the first big home game of the season but people are showing up in the masses and the stadium lights are illuminating the night sky.

Liam, the overly nice and conscious boy in two of his classes is with him, bundled tightly in a jacket with a hood pulled over his head. Zayn was going to come with but the weather turned him away at the last second because God forbid he ruins his hair at this time of day.

Harry’s got an old long sleeve mesh jersey with Tomlinson written in block letters on the back, one of Louis’, underneath his own oversized jacket.

Considering the weather it’s a pretty good turn out. The temperature dips lower as the night drags on but the bleachers are full enough that body heat spreads from student to student and they’re jumping around enough that Harry forgets that he’s here standing in the rain for another one of Louis’ bloody footie games.

-

Liam doesn’t pay much attention and doesn’t want to ask Harry much about the boy that comes and sits next to him every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in their History of Science and Technology lecture. All he really knows is that there’s this boy that never takes notes and seems to invade Harry’s personal space a little bit too much for it to just be platonic.

Sometimes Harry invites him over to study in a flat, it’s not his because technically he’s supposed to be living in the dorms but he practically lives in this mysterious flat apparently.

One day he notes the guitar sitting in the corner of the living room and asks Harry if he plays. Turns out he does.

Suddenly it’s much more than just biology and science history they’re talking about, it’s chords and harmonies and recruiting Liam’s friend Niall to come and ‘jam’ with them in Harry’s mysterious flat.

Turns out Niall loves footie and Harry runs into him at games because students get discounted tickets and it’s cheap entertainment.

The music talk turns to jam sessions and the jam sessions turn to gigs and the gigs turn to recording EP’s on a macbook.

-

By the time finals roll around Louis’ busy with playoffs and can barely keep track of where he’s supposed to be at what time.

Harry’s surrendered his notes for the one and only, probably ever, class they have together.

Harry has to declare a major soon, much too soon for his liking. He’s not like Louis, he doesn’t have that one thing that he wants to do with his life, doesn’t have that passion that everyone promised he’d find.

“One day you’ll be in a class, fall in love, and know that’s what you want to do for the rest of your life.”

What a load of bullshit. 

-

At the end of the semester the professor has them watching a movie, Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.

Louis sneaks in tiredly, drops into the seat next to Harry as always.

Liam’s sat in the seat behind them, like always since that first day of class. When the lights dim the boy with the caramel fringe drops his head onto Harry’s shoulder and Harry tangles his arm around the boy’s shoulder, tracing lightly onto the shoulder blade.

Oh, Liam thinks.

Harry turns his head and drops a kiss on the boy’s head. And yeah that’s a little different but Liam can’t say he didn’t really see it coming.

When their time is up the boy seems like he is worn out, bags under his eyes and slow to lift his bags. Instead of leaving together like usual the boy bids adieu and traces up the aisle with a duffle bag on his shoulder.

Harry stops him before he exits the building, “We still on for studying tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Liam walks backwards, ready to part in opposite directions, “Your place right?”

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice is deep and raspy from a recent cold, “You mind if Louis joins us while we study for history?”

“No that’s fine,” And yes, that must be the boy’s name, Louis.

“See you tomorrow Li,” Harry steps out of path, lets Liam get on his way and heads down the street towards Louis’ flat.

-

Harry knows when Louis’ going to be out of practice and is busy trying to finish his meal soon, so that it’s relatively close to being ready by the time Louis gets back.

He’s got tea brewing in the kettle, knowing that lately Louis’ been grabbing his protein shake from the trainer before he leaves and downing it before he gets back to the flat. The buzzer from the dryer purrs and Harry pops the front loader open.

If he must say, he’s got this down by this point. Seasoned chicken and cheese and garlic salted french bread in the oven, tea kettle started, folding laundry while he’s waiting. Perfect.

Louis’ walking in just as Harry is pouring the tea into two mugs, Yorkshire per Louis’ favorite. There’s a couple of prescribed z pack pills waiting on the bench, hopefully preventing Louis from whatever bug has been going around and healing from whatever he had last week.

He’s still sweaty in the tight leggings under his football shorts and long sleeved jersey, hair matted against his forehead, bags under his eyes, and exhaustion ridden when he climbs through the entryway.

“Hey,” He mutters as Louis picks up the mug to blow on, rippling the surface of the hot liquid, “Chicken’ll be ready in about twenty minutes if you want to shower.”

Louis’ head bobs, hands grabbing for the pills on the counter.

“Do you need some paracetamol?” Harry’s offering, already grabbing the bottle from the spice cabinet, “How’s your ankle? Did I wrap it good enough?”

“Yes and it’s fine,” Louis nods back the next two pills, stretching out his tight back and rolling his right ankle in a circle.

“How about your throat?” Harry reaches out to Louis’ neck, pressing two fingers to the previously swollen area around his glands.

“Little sore,” He tilts his head to the left while Harry’s fingers probe from experience in the nursing class he has to take if he wants to go pre-med, “Might just be from running in the cold though, you know.” And yeah he’s no doctor but can tell when somebody is probably coming down with strep throat.

“Here,” Harry grabs a blunt butter knife from the cutlery drawer, tilts Louis’ head back and grabs the emergency flashlight from another drawer. Louis sticks his tongue out reflexively, letting Harry press the cool metal to his tongue as he flashes light down his throat.

“Shit,” Harry hisses at the sight of the white dots lining the back of his throat, “Lou you should really call the doctor asap.”

Louis hisses back in exasperation because this medication was supposed to prevent him from getting sick during the most important time of his University football career.

“If it’s strep and you get on some penicillin you should be fine for the games next week,” Harry assures, tracing a hand down his back as he retreats from the kitchen towards the bathroom.

Harry sighs as one door closes and another opens, Zayn trickles in as Louis disappears in the bathroom. He grabs the index cards from the bench, begins to flip through them as Zayn busys about.

“How’s it going Haz?” Zayn munches into an apple with a loud cracking noise as a timer goes off and Harry grabs the meat thermometer.

“I’m fine,” He sticks it into the meat, decides it’s close enough to being done and pulls it from the rack.

“Lou?”

“Not so much,” Harry shakes his head as he pulls down two plates and some napkins, folding them in half and placing them on the bench underneath some cutlery.

Just like a que, Louis emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and steam rising from the door, giving Zayn a nod before retreating to the bedroom to change into some warm clothes.

-

The next day Louis’ got off of practice, a rare no game Saturday that he spends in bed until three o’clock. Liam arrives at the flat shortly after one so they pull out their biology labs and notes along with their highlighters and start quizzing each other.

Harry’s got warm cookies ready when Liam shows up and Zayn snatches a few but leaves enough for Louis when he wakes up.

“Haz?” Louis’ rubbing at his eyes and Harry glances up from his spot on the floor, where he’s got papers spread around him in a mess of unorganized work.

“Morning sunshine,” He mumbles while shuffling some papers out of his way. He utilizes the couch in pushing himself up and steps over quite a few pages of paper while Liam looks pleased for a bit of a break.

“You talk to my doctor?” He mumbles while tracing his way to the kitchen, watching as Harry starts the kettle.

“Want some tea Liam?” Harry asks through to the living room, “Yeah, you can go down at five.”

“Sure,” Liam responds from where he’s now lounging on the couch.

“M’kay,” Louis mumbles around the cookie he shoves in his mouth.

“Feeling any better?” Harry’s hands gravitate back to his throat, prodding once again.

“Little,” Louis nods, “Would kill for some tea.”

“That’s good,” He bends at the neck to press a quick kiss to his cheek at which Louis responds by wrapping his arms around his neck, tugging down so his head is resting in his neck.

“You’re good at this,” Louis’ hand trace down his back, rubbing lightly at the ridges of Harry’s vertebrae, “Taking care of me.”

Harry tightens his arms around Louis’ waist, pulling him tighter and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

-

Just at the appropriate time Harry, Niall, and Liam’s “band” begins to take off. From a small recording in a dodgy basement, playing their own instruments, to being played on national radio right around the time that Harry officially has to declare his major.

But he decides not to declare a major and officially drops out.

Louis’ rush period is over, he’s not worried about being scouted or having a backup plan anymore because he’s got signed to a team, an actual mediocre team that’s going to pay to have him run back and forth with a ball all day. Life could be worse.

Their popularity rises faster than they could have ever imagined, within six months they’re releasing a record and have two top tens, within a year they’re off to America to tour as an opening act, and within two years they’ve got their very own headlining world tour.

-

Within that first year is when the public finds out. Harry’s not worried, not shamed at all by his sexuality or Louis for that matter of fact. Louis’ not worried either, knows that whoever is important already knows. At this point Louis’ bordering on the edge of being signed to a premier club.

It’s not supposed to be a big deal, but it turns into a big deal. Papers pick the story up and radio stations pick the story up and the news networks pick the story up and since Louis’ a footballer the sports networks pick it up.

And that’s what leads to the insanity. The blow up of the band. The international fame that leads him and Louis to being household names and molds them into one person, literally Larry Stylinson.

They spend a lot of time apart those few years, struggle with quite a few near break ups that are reconciled with ritzy vacations to the south of France and Thailand and Dubai.

Two years later, when the tour dies down and the three boys are exhausted, Louis’ playing second string for Arsenal and splitting a luxurious flat with Harry. Harry’s forever being photographed leaving games and in jerseys with Louis’ last name and out occasionally holding hands.

It’s a relationship that has the world intrigued, there has yet to be another young gay couple with prominent careers in the media so the relationship is soaked up by the press. Every moment is wanted and privacy diminishes.

The boys take a year off, Harry spends his time getting back into cooking and keeping the flat clean and house hunting, getting used to being around Louis at all times. At this point he’s twenty one and Louis’ twenty three and they’ve been together five years.

Five years sounds much longer than what it feels like.

They have time to breath, even though the world is suffocating them. They have time to talk about what they want, talk about their goals for the first time since touring started. And yeah maybe a little marriage talk and children talk is thrown around.

But then the band has to make a second go and they set up studio time with their band. Even though they’ve taken so much time off they’re all still exhausted beyond belief and barely manage to half ass writing songs and lyrics.

The tour is even worse, they begin to fall apart slowly, succombing to the demand of something they’d never planned, never been prepared for. The reception is poor and expectations were lowered and slowly but surely the fans begin to die off and the songs aren’t being playlisted at radio stations anymore.

Instead of trying for a third round they stop, for good.

What doesn’t stop is the intrigue in Harry and Louis’ relationship. Louis’ still got a prominent role in the public, still kicking the ball around the field and attracting attention from all of the intrigued. At twenty three and twenty five they start to plan a wedding that grows way out of their control.

There are bids from tabloids wanting the first pictures that are high enough to probably feed a small African country for a year. The venue is grand and celebrities are added to the guest list and suddenly the moderate two hundred person reception has grown exponentially and they’re not even sure they know everybody that’s been invited.

By the time the date rolls around they’re so far in over their heads that they shake at the alter.

-

Louis travels for football and Harry sleeps for the first three months of their courtship.

Every flight and train and bus reminds him of the never ending months he spent on tour so he avoids it like the plague. They barely spend a week together before Louis’ off being a big bad footballer.

A phone buzzes like crazy, Liam and Niall and his Mum and his sister and his stepbrother and Louis’ mum and Lottie and Felicite and Daisy and Phoebe and Zayn. He leaves it be until the phone dies on his bed side table.

But eventually he gets a kick of energy and begins to bustle around their flat. He does the laundry and goes grocery shopping and paints the kitchen and rearranges the living room and donates half the clothes in his closet and scrapes all the mud off of every pair of Louis’ cleats in the space of a week.

By the time Louis gets home from Spain the place is almost unrecognizable.

He slides his feet against the crisp sheets that are tangled impossibly around Harry’s body. His finger tips are cold and Harry’s bare body is impossibly warm.

Harry is so conditioned to sleep through anything and everything that Louis is surprised when his body stirs simply from the cold finger tips tracing up his spine and toes disturbing the hair on his legs.

The sheets ruffle and under the mountain some movement occurs, a couple sighs and mumbles are released, “Lou?”

“Hi,” Louis whimpers back in his face, close enough that the heat of his breath disperses between them and he can feel it bounce back on his own nose.

A hand slides over his waist and up his chest, pushing at him slightly, “Get away, you’re cold.”

Louis’ fingers suction to Harry’s hip, pulling him closer, “You’re roasting, share the heat.”

Harry sighs, tangling his fingers over the hand on his hip and bringing it inbetween their faces, blowing on it gently before kissing the knuckle with the silver ring wrapped around it, “You miss me?”

Louis kisses the knuckle on his side of the grip, hand tightening a squeeze, “‘course.”

“You wear your ring?”

“Everyday,” Louis chuckles as their hands disappear and Harry’s body convulsively curls around his.

“Me too,” Harry’s nose brushes up against his in the dark and he feels like an octopus because there’s no way Harry only has four limbs but can completely contour around his body with his scrawny surface area.

-

The next morning Louis and his boundless amount of energy are gone before Harry wakes at eight so he laces up for his semi regular treadmill run in the building’s gym.

Louis apparently had the same idea and is somehow managing to run on the treadmill with his football.

It’s like he doesn’t even notice Harry with his headphones plugged in and concentration aimed somewhere else but when he reaches a sizeable distance his head flicks up, hair floppy against his forehead and sweat lining his neck, gives a half wave to Harry bounding down the treadmill next to him.

-

Louis faces some sort of football emergency that leaves him alone that the first time the adoption counselor visits them at their flat.

For the most part the flat is clean from Harry’s recent nesting but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t clean the house with a vigour that he didn’t know he possessed.

She scrutinizes the house without a fault in her face, but there’s not much for her to pull apart or destroy. Knives are cleared from the countertops, electrical sockets filled with plastic stoppers, and any sharp edged tables are pushed against the wall.

“Looks like you’ve really thought this through,” She pauses by the door with her coat hanging over her shoulders, leather boots zipped just under her knees, flawlessly disguised emotion ridden on her face.

-

They’re told it would probably take a year, maybe two, but it’s not even been a week when she calls them up.

“We’ve got a couple and it’s urgent.”

Louis’ in Manchester but that doesn’t stop Harry.

He walks in the door of a quaint cafe and it’s the type of place that you would have to scout out in the city. It’s a little dark with tall booths but deserted.

There’s a short girl with a very round bump and a scrawny male with her in unfashionably loose jeans and messy hair. She’s got her arms crossed against her breasts, bottom lip tucked under her teeth, and unbelievably blond wavy hair hanging halfway down her back.

Harry clears his throat from behind them, “Um, are you Claire?”

He holds his hand out as she spins around while nodding.

“Harry.”

Her eyes trace down his body and the male next to her gives an alarmingly slow sweep over his body. She speaks up, “This is Marcus.”

“Nice to meet you.”

First impressions are last impressions so he better make it count.

It doesn’t take him long into their round of hot chocolate to come to the verdict that they’re not smart but they’re not dumb. They’re picky and reserved but it’s for the best afterall.

Harry’s like a bull in a China shop, breaking a salt shaker and spilling hot chocolate and fumbling over his own words. He stutters over basic questions, gives them the wrong age for Louis, and fixes his hair a disproportionate amount of times.

When the drinks are drained Claire speaks up, “We can’t make a decision without meeting your husband.”

His eyes widen, not out of surprise but out of panic that he’s going to have to do this all over again, “Right, yeah, of course.”

The eye contact is a little overwhelming. Nobody says anything.

“Uh, well, he’ll be home late tonight, maybe you could come over for dinner tomorrow?” His eyebrows knit together as he fidgets with his curls, “Yeah, yeah, then you can see the flat and yeah that seems good.”

For the first time Claire breaks a smile, dipping her head in a light giggle, “You have to be the most nervous person we’ve interviewed.”

Harry lets his guard down momentarily, lets his shoulders drop against the cushioned seat.

-

A time is confirmed and by 6:30 Harry is in full panic mode and Louis is off rapping Kanye West and Jay-Z, probably destroying his freshly cleaned flat.

“LOUIS!” He shouts from the kitchen, “TURN THE MUSI-”

He’s interrupted by the music turning off and Louis sashaying through the kitchen door on the tiled floor. Harry is bent over the counter with a plastic cutting board on the counter chopping tomatoes and pulling apart a head of lettuce. Louis’ hands gravitate to Harry’s waist, pinching in a way that Harry reacts to, bending to the side and shrugging him off.

With his hands in Harry’s curls, he tugs his head to the side as a timer goes off, “Relax a little.”

“Louis,” He sighs, gripping the knife a little tighter than before, “This is our chance, if we screw this up-”

“Haz,” Louis steps back, running his hand through his fluffed hair, “Then we wait a little longer. We’re young, time’s not running out.”

Harry’s head hangs a little lower with a sigh.

“I know but this is just,” He shrugs a little, “Now’s a good time Lou. If this doesn’t work out, we’re going to be waiting a year or two.”

The phone on the wall rings and Harry grabs the towel from his shoulder to dry off the tomato juice before grabbing the handle.

“Okay, thank you, I’ll send Louis down,” Harry drops the phone back into the cradle, “They’re here.”

“Got it,” Louis moves back through the door as Harry takes in a quick breath. He slips his shoes on before skidding back through the kitchen to grab a key, dropping by to pinch Harry’s ass and planting a kiss on his cheek that is so wet and ridiculous it makes Harry giggle a little, “Settle down love, if it’s not meant to be it’s not meant to be.”

The door clicks shut as Louis escapes but by the time he’s back he’s got Claire in a fit of giggles. He tours them around the flat, shows them what home is like and by the time they’re in the kitchen with Harry serving salads, Claire speaks up with a smile on her face, “You didn’t tell me he was funny.”

-

Later, when they’re in bed with soft classical music playing and Harry’s breath on the back of his neck, Louis lets his hand brush Harry’s sizeable ones, “I think they liked us.”

Harry kisses the bottom of his neck, “You, they liked you.”

“Well we’re a packaged deal, aren’t we?”

The chuckle Harry gives blows against the back of his neck, “I guess we are.”

-

The next day Harry is at Louis’ game, watching from one of the overhead boxes with Niall when the call comes in.

-

Harry is glad that he’s got the nursery finished within two weeks because it’s four to the dot when the big phone call comes in.

They toss clothes and toothbrushes in a wrecked manner, rush out the door and into the car only for Harry to have them turn around once they leave the parking lot.

By the time he comes back with a car seat he’s out of breath and sinking into the seats of the now warm car that Louis’ been waiting in.

“Ready?”

“Hell no.”

-

She’s a month early, a tiny little thing.

Waverly. That’s her name. Waverly Louise.

-

Harry finally understands why the band blew up so big.

It was to prepare him for this.

The screaming isn’t pleasant and the panic he has when she gets a fever at two months is at least buffered by the fact that he ran on about two hours of sleep each night for a couple of years. He’s fairly decent at the getting up in the middle of night and running on no sleep thing.

Louis is busy with practices and games, of course, but when he comes home he tends to stare a lot, look at her blue eyes and chubby cheeks.

At this point the dark head of hair she was born with has fallen out and is being replaced with blonde.

And yeah, Harry thinks he’s made for this. Waking up in the middle of the night and warming bottles and tummy time and keeping an eye on the swing while waiting for the chicken to cook and folding laundry.

-

When she’s two and Harry starts to get over his reluctance to get on an airplane and she can tolerate the massiveness of a crowd he takes her to a game, up high in the box with chubby toddler fingers pointing down and toothy smiles.

Louis’ mum and sisters like to join, like to take turn buttering kisses to her cheeks and making her squeal with giggles.

Harry poises her on his hip, telling her to clap when Louis scores a goal but her blonde pigtail blocks his view.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, after a kidney transplant I'm back. I'm going to be honest this wasn't beta'd and I'm on drugs like you wouldn't believe so if you're reading this thanks for bearing through. Hopefully it wasn't too cheesy/poorly edited.


End file.
